


Close Quarters

by Talk_to_me



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, brettsey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talk_to_me/pseuds/Talk_to_me
Summary: This is all Herrmann's fault
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 113





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> My 1st fic!

This was all Herrmann’s fault.

Herrmann and the PIC from 3rd shift, this was all their fault, Sylvie thought with a scowl. 

First Herrmann put a bug into Boden’s ear that he was the only officer without quarters, petitioning for the blue room conversion, and he was (rightfully in her opinion) shot down. Sylvie’d seen what a Blue Room conversion could bring and she didn’t need that drama again. Then it dawned on Herrmann that as PIC, Sylvie was also an officer. He approached her to join his campaign and she'd rejected the idea. So he went to the PIC’s from the other shifts, pointing out that they were also getting shafted and wouldn’t it be great if they had a private spot to do paperwork? The Blue Room was easily big enough for a build out of 2 officer quarters. The next thing she knew she was being called into Boden’s office along with Casey, Severide, and Herrmann. It turned out the PIC from 3rd shift was cousins with a member the Brass and she had used her contact to make enough noise that Boden had to relent. However, being Boden, he would only do so on his own terms. 

2 new officers quarters were indeed constructed in the Blue Room, 1 for her and the other PICs… and 1 for Casey. Boden pointed out that Herrmann and Severide, holding the same rank, belonged in the bunk room quarters. Casey was a Captain, it made more sense for him to be closer to the bullpen and to Boden, and if that grinded Herrmann’s gears, all the better. 

So there she was, in a new bunk, no longer in whispering distance from Foster and Stella (not that Stella spent much time in her own bunk anyway), with only a thin partial wall separating her bunk from the guy she's been trying to convince herself she didn’t have feelings for. A partial flippin' wall. The Blue Room had a 16ft ceiling and the fire code didn’t allow for a build of more than 10ft walls in the space, so up went these beige, cold, thick plastic walls. She could hear every sigh, every groan, every rustle of clothing. It was driving her insane. At least he didn’t snore.

Also driving her insane was Foster’s teasing about the whole situation. Sure Emily called it the Blue Room in front of other people but in the ambo she wouldn’t stop calling it the Red Room. Damn that time Sylvie's guard had come down after 1 too many glasses of rosè at Molly’s and she confessed her secret obsession with Casey’s strong forearms and calloused hands. 

It was nearly 2am when she and Foster returned from a particularly annoying call involving a bachelorette party, karaoke, and a sprained ankle courtesy of the sister of the groom falling off a 6-inch platform heel. Of course the Maid of Honor HAD to be singing along to the B-52’s when Ambulance 61 rolled up. Which naturally meant that Foster, spying the desk lamp on in Casey’s quarters, started to hum “Love Shack” and wiggle her eyebrows as they separated to their bunks. 

Sylvie tossed a limp wave at Matt from the small area between the door to the kitchen and the doors to their quarters and entered her new space. Paperwork could wait until tomorrow, tonight had been nonstop and she’d be lucky to grab an hour before the bells went off again. Toeing off her boots she all but collapsed in her bunk, landing a little harder than intended, and settling with a bounce and a low “oof”.

“You alright over there?” She hears Matt toss over the wall. 

“Fine, just exhausted, I’m going to close my eyes while I can” she responds. 

“Probably past time for me to do the same, I’ll join you” Matt says. Then he stutters “I-I mean I’ll turn in as well.”

Sylvie blushes at his correction. 

“Good night Matt” she says, placing her palm against the plastic wall.

“Night, Sylvie” she hears in response, she imagines she can feel the heat of his hand pressing back. In my dreams, she thinks and settles in, hoping for the day when this whole situation feels normal. Damn, Herrmann.


End file.
